


Stir the Pudding and Make a Wish

by ElizabethOShea



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:13:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethOShea/pseuds/ElizabethOShea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the third story in the "Pudding" series which revisits characters from the final season Professionals episode, "You'll Be All Right", and was initially published in the zine "Roses & Lavender 5", published by Allamagoosa Press. The first and last stories in the series, "Rice Pudding Again," and "Christmas Pudding Again", by Irene are, unfortunately, only available in print. The second story, "The Proof of the Pudding" by PFL is avaiable online here: <a href="http://hatstand.slashcity.net/pfl/pudding.html">The Proof of the Pudding</a></p><p>For anyone without access to Irene's wonderful "Rice Pudding Again," which inspired the companion pieces by PFL and me, her story is told from the point of view of Linda Stone, the daughter of Jack and Chrissie Stone from "You'll Be All Right." Linda, defying family tradition, has become a police officer. While on duty at a big society wedding, she goes with her instinct and takes down a man she believes is about to pull a gun. Unfortunately for her, he turns out to be unarmed, indignant and influential. Disciplined by her superiors, she is leaving the scene in disgrace when a dark-haired, blue-eyed and vaguely familiar middle-aged man stops her. WAP Bodie gives her his card and asks her to call him. Despite remembering Bodie's part in one of the worst weeks of her life, Linda accepts his invitation to meet him for breakfast to discuss a proposition he wants to put to her. She arrives to find Bodie waiting with another face from the past - his partner, Ray Doyle. When she hears what they have to say, Linda is initially shocked and disbelieving but, with her police career in ruins, she is eventually persuaded to try out for CI5.</p><p>PFL's "Proof of the Pudding" is written from Doyle's point of view, giving a different perspective on the events of the first story and touching on the challenges Bodie and Doyle themselves have faced in the years between the end of the televised series and their meeting with the grown-up Linda Stone.</p><p>The stories are best read in sequence, and this one in particular won't make a lot of sense without having read at least one of the two earlier stories (both of which I'd recommend wholeheartedly in their own right, even if you have no intention of reading this one).</p>
    </blockquote>





	Stir the Pudding and Make a Wish

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third story in the "Pudding" series which revisits characters from the final season Professionals episode, "You'll Be All Right", and was initially published in the zine "Roses & Lavender 5", published by Allamagoosa Press. The first and last stories in the series, "Rice Pudding Again," and "Christmas Pudding Again", by Irene are, unfortunately, only available in print. The second story, "The Proof of the Pudding" by PFL is avaiable online here: [The Proof of the Pudding](http://hatstand.slashcity.net/pfl/pudding.html)
> 
> For anyone without access to Irene's wonderful "Rice Pudding Again," which inspired the companion pieces by PFL and me, her story is told from the point of view of Linda Stone, the daughter of Jack and Chrissie Stone from "You'll Be All Right." Linda, defying family tradition, has become a police officer. While on duty at a big society wedding, she goes with her instinct and takes down a man she believes is about to pull a gun. Unfortunately for her, he turns out to be unarmed, indignant and influential. Disciplined by her superiors, she is leaving the scene in disgrace when a dark-haired, blue-eyed and vaguely familiar middle-aged man stops her. WAP Bodie gives her his card and asks her to call him. Despite remembering Bodie's part in one of the worst weeks of her life, Linda accepts his invitation to meet him for breakfast to discuss a proposition he wants to put to her. She arrives to find Bodie waiting with another face from the past - his partner, Ray Doyle. When she hears what they have to say, Linda is initially shocked and disbelieving but, with her police career in ruins, she is eventually persuaded to try out for CI5.
> 
> PFL's "Proof of the Pudding" is written from Doyle's point of view, giving a different perspective on the events of the first story and touching on the challenges Bodie and Doyle themselves have faced in the years between the end of the televised series and their meeting with the grown-up Linda Stone.
> 
> The stories are best read in sequence, and this one in particular won't make a lot of sense without having read at least one of the two earlier stories (both of which I'd recommend wholeheartedly in their own right, even if you have no intention of reading this one).

“It’s the job, Mum.”

Don’t I just wish I had a pound for every time I’ve heard her say that.

Won’t be round to help me strip the paper in the spare room like she promised? “Nick’ll lend you a hand, Mum, won’t he? Only, it’s the job.”

Rings up just as I’m putting the joint in to say she can’t make Sunday dinner after all? “Maybe next week, eh, Mum? You know how it is. The job...”

Oh, I know how it is all right. I know all about ‘The Job’. The job that’s stealing my daughter from me, as surely as it stole my husband all those years ago. The job that drove us out of our home, cut us off from our friends and turned our lives into a media sideshow. The job. Always, the blessed job. CI-bloody-5, the Stone family curse.

So why do I put up with it? Don’t think I haven’t asked myself that often enough. If it upsets me so badly, then why don’t I say something, let her know how much it bothers me? I’m her mum after all, you’d think she might listen to me.

You’d be wrong, though. She’s got a mind of her own, that one. Always has had. She’s just like her father there. Even as a toddler she was a stubborn little mite, a real chip off the old block. Jack and I used to laugh about it. He’d swear blind the first words she ever came out with were, “You can’t make me.”

I’ve asked myself what Jack would say to all this as well. His kids meant the world to him. It used to tear him up inside, all that time in hiding, knowing he was missing out on so much of their growing up. And it wasn’t just the big things that hurt – the school plays and prize-givings he never got to see, the family holidays we never took – it was all the little everyday things he wasn’t around to share: the new shoes, the loose teeth, the coughs and colds and school reports and Brownie camps. It was me who saw them through all of that; me who cooked their dinner and washed their clothes, read to them when they were sick and planned their birthday treats. But their dad was the one they looked up to. He was special; the magical mystery man who’d show up overnight with presents and stories, and vanish next morning – not like an ordinary nine to five dad at all. The two of them worshipped him, and he adored them both, of course, but he always had a special soft spot for his ‘princess’.

So what would he think if he saw her today? Would she still have gone ahead with it if he’d been here to talk to when she started all this? He’s the only one she might have listened to. But it’s too late now. CI5 saw to that when they took him away.

And, in the end, that’s not the only reason I grit my teeth and say nothing. No, I don’t like what she’s doing, I don’t like it one little bit. But I won’t let myself interfere because, you see… she’s happy.

That was the first thing I asked her when we finally talked about her plans. Was she sure this was what she wanted? Did she really think it could make her happy?

And, “This is right for me, Mum,” she said. “I’ve never been surer of anything. Of course it’s not going to be easy, but I know this is what I’m meant to do. It’s what I’ve been looking for: a place where I fit, a place I can make a difference. I know it’s the last thing you’d choose for me, but please Mum, you have to try to understand.”

“Try to understand.” I wonder if she had any idea what she was asking? But I’m her mother and I love her. Her mind was made up, and what could I say? So I try. I try to understand. I keep my fears to myself, I see her when I can, and while the rest of the family are congratulating themselves that she’s finally realised the Met’s no place for one of us and found herself a respectable new career in the civil service, I shake my head at the I-told-you-sos and hold my tongue.

But don’t think it ever gets easier. Supporting her in this might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

 

I should have realised something was up the night I got that odd phone call. I never managed to see as much of her as I would have liked even while she was still with the Met. What with her being stationed right over the other side of town and working shifts, it wasn’t always easy to get away for a visit. But she’s a good girl, my Linda; she made a point of ringing home as often as she could for a chat. If she didn’t say too much about her work and I was careful to leave things vague when we talked about what her brother was up to, well, that was just the way it had to be. We both knew how I felt about a child of mine joining the police. I’d had my say – we all had – but I’d known from the beginning we were wasting our breath and, when it came down to it, what was I going to do? Fly into a rage like her granddad and tell her never to darken my doors again? Of course not. She was still my daughter and I was still her mum and that was that.

And she gave it her best. I had to give her credit for that. Oh, she was too proud to tell me in so many words, but I knew how impossible it was for her on the force. Well, the odds were stacked against her from the start. However good she was, however hard she worked, they’d never let her forget where she came from. With her family pushing on one side and her colleagues on the other, anyone else would’ve recognised she was on a hiding to nothing long ago and packed it in. But not my Linda. No, she just tried harder. I warned her she couldn’t hope to beat the system, but Linda’s never been one to take unfairness lying down. She was determined to make it as a copper even if she had to take on the whole force single-handed to do it.

But that Saturday evening I sensed something was wrong the minute she opened her mouth. She clearly didn’t want to talk about it, though, so I didn’t ask. I just nattered on about Nick’s old bike he was doing up for himself, and her gran taking a first with her peonies at the WI show, and the new exercise class I’d joined down at the Legion hall until, right out of the blue, “Mum,” she says, “Do you remember a man named W. Bodie?”

“Of course, love,” I told her. “Don’t you?”

I couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. But she was just a kid, I suppose, and it was a long time ago.

I haven’t forgotten, not a single moment. _A lot to remember_ , Pat promised in that nasty little note. And, oh, he made sure of that all right.

That week was a nightmare. All disjointed light and dark, like a horrible dream. Even at the time I could hardly believe it was happening. After we’d been so careful, so clever. All those years, and then for our close, cosy, cautious little world to fall apart in just one night. I’ve never been so scared. For the children, for Jack and me, for everything I could see coming to an end. Huddled up there on our bed, clutching the kids in the dark, with gunshots and shouting and running feet downstairs, and Nick and Linda crying and calling for their dad.

And Mr W. Bodie was right at the heart of it. Him and the other one. The copper. Doyle.

I still get mad when I think of it. I want to grab Jack and ask him again: why? Why did he have to go to Doyle? He must have known what would happen; seen it coming. They’re all the same, these people. Cold-hearted bastards, the lot of them: police, CI5, makes no difference.

But, oh no. Doyle was going to help us, Jack said. Going to keep us safe. Well, of course he bloody was. Knew what was in it for him, didn’t he? Wouldn’t do his reputation any harm, bringing in the last of the Maiden Lane gang, solving the mystery, closing the books. Oh yes, he and his mob caught up with Pat, the poor, crazy sod, but it was us that suffered.

Jack and I had a real set-to when I found out who this ‘Doyle’ was. I tried to tell him. “You didn’t need to get anyone else involved”, I said. We could have handled it. It was a family problem; we should’ve kept it in the family. That’s what we do, people like us, we keep it in the family.

But Pat and his little games had him rattled. All those years in hiding and he didn’t know who to trust any more. We were all he had, the kids and me, and he wasn’t going to lose us. That’s what he told me. Nothing else mattered, he said. So he went to Doyle and he made his promises. He thought Doyle would understand, you see. He knew him from the old days, said he was a good officer, a fair man, that he’d look out for us. And, give him his due, I suppose he did do his best for us according to his lights. Kept us safe like Jack had asked. But only because he had to. Only because if anything had happened to us Jack wouldn’t have gone through with his half of the bargain.

But when it came to it, Jack made it easy for him. When it was all over he just walked away with them. Didn’t argue, didn’t bargain, didn’t run. Just kissed me and the kids and walked away.

I wonder sometimes if that was what he wanted. You know, deep down, where he wouldn’t admit it even to himself. He was so quick to offer himself up, I wonder if Pat might not have given him the excuse he was looking for. Can’t have been easy for him; all those years of hiding away, living in the shadows. It wasn’t easy for any of us, always watching, wondering how much longer we had before somebody cottoned on and shopped us to the Bill or the papers. Perhaps Jack thought this would put an end to it. He could serve out his time and be clear of it all; come back to us a free man and start again.

It’s just that I honestly didn’t think he could ever bring himself to leave us, leave the kids. Right up to the last minute I expected him to turn round and laugh and let me in on the real plan. But I suppose it was no life for a man, stuck up there under the rafters in the dark for hours every day. Perhaps even prison might come to look better than a lifetime of that. And he couldn’t know when he went away, none of us could, that he was going to get sick, that he’d never be coming home.

At the time, though, all I could see was that he was leaving us. They were going to take him away and he was going to let them. We’d be alone, me and the kids, and Jack was so set on doing the decent thing he was prepared to just walk away with them and let it happen.

I wanted to run. All of us. Go abroad somewhere maybe, just the four of us. Dad would’ve taken care of it. He could afford it and he still knew the right people. He’d have done just about anything for me and the kids. But Jack wouldn’t listen. Wasn’t running to my old man for any favours, he said. Well, he and Dad never did get on. Dad never believed Jack was good enough for me, and he made sure Jack knew it. And Jack didn’t help. Refused to work for the old firm, insisted on going his own way. Stubborn, you see. Like father, like daughter: stamped from the same mould, those two.

I don’t suppose we would’ve got away with it anyway. It was too late by then, our lives weren’t our own any more. Jack had handed them over. To Doyle the good officer and his mate, Mr W. Bodie.

I wasn’t surprised it was Bodie Linda asked about first. Oh she was quite smitten with that one as kid. Even took her mind off John Travolta for a month or so. And Nick was as bad, mooning after that girl Bodie had with him, Liz Spalding. I’d liked young Liz myself. She was a nice girl. Too nice for that bunch of thugs she ran with. But that Bodie, well, he was too smooth by half if you ask me. And as for the other one, Doyle, I never knew quite what to make of him. Until the end, when he showed his true colours. Just another copper when it came down to it. The same as all the rest.

Linda doesn’t like me to talk about that time – I think it makes her uncomfortable when I can’t keep the bitterness neatly tucked away – so it had to be something important to make her bring it up of her own accord like that. But she was in a hurry that night and she’d thanked me and rung off before I could ask her what it was all about.

I don’t know why. Call it a premonition, mother’s instinct, whatever, but that call left me feeling uneasy. And it wasn’t just a case of bringing back bad memories, it was something more than that. A whiff of trouble coming. A feeling something had woken up. Something we could end up wishing we'd just let lie.

To be honest, I think that’s why I didn’t make much of it when I didn’t hear from Linda the next weekend. It wasn’t so unusual for her to miss a call once in a while when things were busy at work. But, more than that, I knew when I spoke to her again I was going to have to ask her about that last Saturday, and my sixth sense was warning me it was a bad idea to go asking questions unless I was sure I wanted to hear the answers.

But when almost two more weeks went by without a call and she hadn’t replied to the messages I’d left on her answerphone I started to change my mind. I’d known something was wrong when I spoke to her; I should have pressed her to find out what it was. Nick told me not to worry, said I was making a lot of fuss about nothing and she’d probably got herself a new boyfriend or something and was too busy having a good time to call. Nick would think that, but it wasn’t like my conscientious daughter at all.

In the end I broke down and did what she’d asked me never to do. I called the station. The desk sergeant put me on hold for what felt like ages and then there was a click and a woman with a pleasantly brisk voice picked up the phone and told me that Linda was on secondment to another division at the moment on a training exercise, but that if I needed to contact her urgently I could leave a message and she’d see it was passed on. It was such an obvious answer I felt a bit of a fool for not working it out myself. It wasn’t the first time she’d been sent on a training course after all. I hoped to goodness Linda never got to hear about me coming the over-protective mother on her, but I put the phone down reassured. It was just those names from the past getting me spooked over nothing. Of course everything was all right.

That Friday, I found out how wrong I was.

 

It was a perfectly ordinary day. I’d just got back from the big new Sainsbury’s on the bypass, unloaded the car and put the kettle on for a cuppa. I was looking forward to putting my feet up and grabbing half an hour with the new Jilly Cooper before I made a start on supper. He’s got a healthy appetite, my Nick – well, they do at that age, don’t they – and Fridays are his football nights so I like to have a proper meal waiting when he gets in.

I was putting the last of the tins away in the top cupboard when the doorbell rang. We’d had a lot of those YTS lads coming round that summer, straight off the train from Liverpool or Tyneside with a suitcase full of overpriced dusters and ironing board covers. I like to do my bit when I can, but I honestly didn’t have the energy for all that after fighting my way through the crush at the supermarket earlier, so I was going to lie low and pretend I was out. But then the bell went again and I thought what if it was the old dear from next door locked herself out again? She gets herself in such a state. So, like a fool, I went and answered it.

“Honestly, Mary,” I was scolding as I opened the door, “You’ve really got to – ” And the words dried up in my throat.

I couldn’t move. For a few seconds, I couldn’t even think.

Seventeen years. He’d changed – haven’t we all – but it was him all right. Large as life, right there on my doorstep. Doyle.

I’d thought the years had given me some distance, but seeing him again for the first time since the trial, brought it all rushing back as strong as ever; all the old fear and bitterness rising up in my throat like vomit till I thought I’d choke on it.

“Hallo, Chrissie.” Same voice, a little rougher, deeper. Same hard, careful eyes above the charming smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough.”

The paralysis had left me as soon as he opened his mouth, and I was already pushing on the door to slam it in his face. But he was quicker. His arm flashed out and something cracked into the gap between the frame and the hinges. The door juddered to a halt, and pins and needles went shooting down my arm as the shock wrenched the handle half out of my hand.

It stung. I snatched my hand away and clutched at my fingers while the door swung slowly back on itself and Doyle raised his eyebrows, cool as a cucumber, and shook his head. “Ah now, that’s not very friendly, is it? Come on, Chrissie love. We just want to talk.”

“We?”

“That’s right,” Doyle gestured back towards the road, “Me an’ him.”

I wasn’t even surprised. Who else could it be, after all, but Mr W. Bodie, pocketing a bunch of keys as he came jogging up the path, to squeeze into the porch behind his mate.

“Afternoon,” he said, with a breezy nod in my direction. “Parking always this bad round here, is it?” And, in an aside to Doyle, “Had to leave it right down the other end, bloody miles away.”

That gave me the few seconds I needed to swallow down some of the panic and start thinking halfway rationally again. This was unreal. What the hell did they want with me – with us – after all these years?

I realised I was actually wringing my hands, and made myself relax my grip. There was no way I’d let myself go to pieces in front of these two. I forced myself to be calm, reminded myself I had nothing to be afraid of any more and gathered what was left of my dignity around me.

Considering the way I felt inside, it was a small triumph to hear how steady and normal my voice sounded when I spoke. “You’re still with CI5, I suppose?”

Doyle nodded.

“And you want to talk to me?”

“Yes. We – ”

“This talk. Is it official?”

“Uh,” Doyle glanced at his mate. “Not exactly.”

“Then I’ve got nothing to say to you.” There. It was easy if I just ignored the way my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. “So you can both turn right around and leave, can’t you.” I gave the door another shove. “Now.”

The door wasn’t going to close, but I leaned on it anyway, taking a mean satisfaction in grinding it against whatever it was Doyle had jammed in the hinges. I glanced down. A walking stick; a neat variation on the old foot-in-the-door trick. Just some silly affectation, I thought – until I saw him stagger slightly as the grip twisted in his hand. So, the stick wasn’t something he carried for effect. He really needed it; was finding it hard to balance without it. And I felt a quick, unworthy stab of pleasure at seeing the athletic young man I remembered from all those years ago brought to this. It was a sweet realisation that perhaps those seventeen years hadn’t been much kinder to him than they had to us. Could it be there was some justice in the world after all?

Bodie moved up closer behind him. “Listen, Chrissie – ”

I looked him right in the eye. “Mrs Stone to you.”

He dipped his head with an ironic smile. “Mrs Stone. I know this is hard for you, but if you’ll just give us a few minutes, we can explain. It is important.”

“It must be to bring the two of you out of the woodwork after all these years. If you’re looking for Jack, you’ll be disappointed. He’s dead. He died in prison ten years ago.”

“Yes,” Doyle said. “we heard. I’m very sorry.” And the strange thing was, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have believed he meant it.

“Not half as sorry as I am, believe me.” So they knew about Jack. Then why…? My skin went cold. “This isn’t about Nick is it?”

“Nick?” Doyle shook his head. “No. Not our department.”

Of course not. Nick had never been in their league. If Nick had got himself into trouble again it wouldn’t be an unofficial visit from CI5, it’d be a squad car and a couple of the local lads with an invitation to accompany them to the station. My Nick likes to think big, but to this lot he’d be small fry, bless him. Which left us precisely where we’d started.

First Linda’s phone call, and now this. I didn’t like it. Too many coincidences. Why couldn’t this pair have stayed where they belonged, safely back in the past with the rest of the nightmare?

It couldn’t be anything to do with Dad. He’d kept a hand in well into his seventies, but the stroke a few years back had finally taken him out of the game for good. So, what?

Of course. That bloody book had been serialised in one of the Sunday supplements the month before. The latest of many, and a load of crap from cover to cover; pure sensationalism. But it’d sell. The Maiden Lane job had been hyped into the nation’s favourite true crime story, right up there with the Great Train Robbery. There hadn’t been a film yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“Is this something to do with Barney? Barney Moss? Has he been talking?”

The same paper that ran the book had reported he was up for a parole hearing in the next couple of months. Just like the little weasel to decide it’d be in his interests to drop me in it. “Because if this is about the money, I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police seventeen years ago. You’re wasting your time. I can’t tell you anything. I didn’t know where it went then and I don’t know now. All I do know is we never saw a penny of it. Don’t you people ever give up?”

Doyle made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “It’s not about the money, Chri – Mrs Stone.”

“Well then, why can’t you – ”

“It’s about Linda.”

My stomach dropped. The bastards. They’d been keeping me here playing word games while something was up with my daughter… It all made sense now. CI5 and the police, they had to work together sometimes, didn’t they? And after I’d been so relieved when they told me Linda was ‘seconded to another division’. A joint operation… Something gone wrong…

“Linda?” My voice sounded shrill and ugly. So much for dignity, but that was the last thing on my mind now. “What about Linda. What’s happened? Is she in trouble? Hurt?”

“No, no,” Doyle broke in over all my questions. He was shaking his head, genuinely apologetic. “Nothing like that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Linda’s fine. She’s not in any trouble and she’s quite fit, I promise you.”

“Fitter than she’s ever been,” Bodie chimed in, grinning.

Doyle gave him a look and then turned back to me, nodding past me into the hall. “Look, please Mrs Stone, I don’t think this is something we should be discussing out here on the doorstep. Can’t we come in and talk about it inside?”

Bodie had edged forward again and slid a surreptitious hand under Doyle’s elbow. I was surprised to see Doyle accepting the support, and for the first time I took in the signs of real strain on his face.

“Yes,” Bodie moved in, smiling with conscious charm, “we’d all be more comfortable. And besides,” with an exasperated glance at his friend, “if Doyle here doesn’t get his weight off that leg sharpish, he’s going to end up flat on his face on your doormat. And that’d really get the neighbours talking, wouldn’t it?”

Doyle gave him a glare that’d melt glass, but when I grudgingly released the door and let him reclaim his stick, he settled his weight back on it with visible relief. What was the matter with his leg? Not a recent injury, I guessed. He used that stick like it was a familiar part of him, and now I knew to look, I could see the ingrained pain lines around his eyes and mouth that must have been years in the making.

They were watching me, waiting to see if they were going to be invited in or have the door slammed in their faces. Giving me the illusion of choice.

Because that was all it was, of course. What choice did I have? As soon as they’d mentioned Linda they must have known I’d be forced to hear what they had to say. Anything that touches my kids touches me. They’re the chink in my armour; all I’ve got left now. Besides, Bodie was right; they’re a nosy lot round here; give a whole new meaning to neighbourhood watch. There’d be curtains twitching already, no doubt. Two strange men turning up on my doorstep on a weekday evening? I’d be the talk of the street tomorrow as it was. Might as well bring them inside and give the gossips something to really get their teeth into.

So they were coming in. But that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for them.

“I’ll have to see your ID.”

Doyle looked up. “What?” And Bodie let out a bark of laughter.

“ID. Warrant cards – or whatever you lot call them.”

“Oh come on, Chrissie. You know who we are.”

“I know who you were. Can’t be too careful these days, though, can you?”

Doyle’s eyes narrowed, but Bodie cut in, overriding him.

“Absolutely right,” he said, reaching inside his jacket. He gave Doyle’s arm a nudge in the right direction. “Go on, Ray, show her your card.”

Doyle rolled his eyes, but bit back whatever he had been about to say and pulled out his ID wallet instead, snapping it open and presenting it to me with a sarcastic little smile. Bodie lined his up beside it, grinning.

“Terrible, aren’t they?”

I skipped the small print that meant nothing to me and took my time examining the photographs. They were taken a few years ago judging by the amount of grey in Doyle’s hair now. And yes, they were rather terrible, but not, I thought, in quite the sense Bodie had meant.

His face was thinner in his photograph, and his skin had that fragile, almost transparent look about it that people get after a long illness. But his eyes were dark and uncompromising, fixing the camera with a determined stare. Was that a fresh scar there at his right temple? I raised my eyes automatically to search for it on his face and, yes, there it was, much fainter now, barely visible probably if you didn’t know what to look for, a silvering crescent disappearing into his hairline.

“Doesn’t do my beauty justice at all, I’m afraid,” Bodie said, reading my mind from the direction of my gaze. “But then I hadn’t been well.”

I wondered what Doyle’s excuse was. The face was much the same, but the expression on it brought me up short. I knew it, you see. That bruised, bewildered look was painfully familiar. It ought to be; I’d seen it bleeding back at me from the mirror morning after morning those first months after Jack died.

I handed back the cards feeling faintly uncomfortable, as if I’d seen more there than I was meant to. No, the years hadn’t been kind to Doyle. Not if that picture was anything to go by. Not at all.

“All right. You can come in. But you tell me what you have to tell me and then you leave. My Nick’ll be home soon, wanting his tea, and I can’t have him finding you two here when he gets in. Nick’s not fond of CI5, you see. No-one in our family is.” I stood back and let the door swing wide. “Well. Come in then, if you’re coming.”

It’s a steep step and Bodie offered his arm, but Doyle waved it away, impatiently, and hoisted himself up with an awkward lurch, holding onto the door frame with his free hand and using his stick for leverage. The problem was with the right knee, I decided, watching brazenly – didn’t look like it would bend properly.

Bodie followed him in and passed me in the hall, making an unerring beeline for the lounge.

“In here is it?”

I nodded and followed him through, leaving Doyle to come along behind. My book was still lying open on the arm of the chair, and I thought wistfully about the plans I’d had for the afternoon before these two turned up. Hoping they’d take the hint, I stayed standing. This wasn’t a social occasion and if Doyle’s leg was giving him gyp, then he’d be all the more ready to say what he had to say and leave, wouldn’t he?

Bodie put paid to that idea straight away. He didn’t wait to be asked, just threw himself down on the sofa, arms slung casually across the back, and made himself at home, gazing around with cheerful curiosity.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Mrs Stone.”

“Oh, do you think so? Of course we missed the garden and the extra space at first, but we had to move out of the old place in a bit of a hurry, and beggars can’t be choosers.”

I was wasting my sarcasm. He wasn’t even listening. He’d spotted the family photographs on the sideboard and was back on his feet, strolling over to take a look.

Our life in pictures: Jack and me on our wedding day, the kids’ christenings, Nick aged five as Puss in Boots, Linda at thirteen winning the judo club cup, the four of us at the seaside when the kids were just babies. It was only the Christmas after that that my cousin Col turned up with an offer to cut Jack in on this sure thing a mate of his was planning…

Bodie ignored all the baby pictures and holiday snaps and homed in on the official portrait from Linda’s passing out parade at Hendon. Nick doesn’t approve of me putting that one out with all the rest, thinks I should keep it tucked decently away in a drawer somewhere, but it’s a good picture and it was such a special day for her – all done up in her uniform, shiny new copper ready to take on the world.

“Here, Ray, see this?” Bodie held the picture out and Doyle limped across, for a closer look. Bodie smiled at him. “Bring back memories, does it?”

“Yeah,” Doyle agreed, smiling back. “How bloody uncomfortable that uniform was for a start.” He raised a hand to his hair as if expecting to surprise a helmet there. “God, did I really spend two years with one of those things on my head?”

Bodie scanned the rows of bright young faces and pointed, turning the picture so I could see it. “This is Linda here, isn’t it? You must be very proud of her.”

“Yes, I am. But you didn’t come all the way out here just to go through the family albums, did you? I thought you had something important to tell me.”

I was looking at Bodie, but out of the corner of my eye I was keeping a malicious eye on Doyle, wondering how he was going to cope with my saggy old three-piece suite. I have a hard time getting back up off that sofa myself now the springs are so worn and soft.

I remembered the two of them slouching on that sofa back at our old place, when it was still new. Two fit, arrogant young men sitting in judgement while Jack pleaded with them for his family’s life. I hadn’t forgotten how scared I was that morning, how angry and helpless I felt when they came pushing past me into my own kitchen, paying me about as much attention as they would a bit of useless old furniture. I wondered how it had made Doyle feel to find himself one of the weak and helpless ones all of a sudden.

Bodie put the picture back and turned away from the sideboard. “Um,” he said, looking over to me with an ingratiating smile, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cuppa, is there? Thirsty work, talking...”

I looked at him, astonished. He had to be kidding.

“What do you think this is? A bloody tea party?”

But another of those hopeful smiles and, against my better judgement, I found myself relenting. After all, the kettle had just boiled, and quite frankly, I could do with a cup myself. At least it might help steady my nerves.

“Oh, very well. I’ll make some tea.”

“You’re very kind. Thank you.”

 _Yes_ , I thought, _I certainly am._ I don’t know what came over me really. Like I said, too smooth by half, and he used that smile of his like a pro.

As I went out of the room, I heard one of them start to pick out a one-fingered tune on the piano. It sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it.

“And I’ll thank you,” I said, sticking my head back round the door, “to keep your nose out of my belongings while I’m gone.”

Bodie gave a guilty start and lowered the lid so fast it crashed down and set the whole thing jangling. Doyle made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like smothered laughter and ordered him to sit down before he wrecked the place.

 

I used the time alone in the kitchen to take a bit of a breather and try to get my thoughts in order while I brought the kettle back to the boil.

At the same time I was keeping a suspicious ear out not to miss what the two of them were up to in the other room. All I could hear was the odd snatch of conversation in voices too soft for me to make out any words. But even so, I didn’t feel comfortable about leaving them alone in there too long. Not that I had anything to hide, but I’ve had more than my fill of strangers prying into our lives and I wouldn’t put it past either of them to take advantage.

I made a good strong pot of Darjeeling and stuck the cosy on to let it brew, then I sloshed milk and tea into mugs – I wasn’t getting the good tea set out for the two of them – and piled them on the tray with a couple of spoons, a milk bottle and the sugar jar.

When I came back into the living room they were both sitting good as gold, side by side on the sofa with Doyle’s stick propped against the arm by his knee.

Bodie was reading from an old copy of _Woman’s Journal_ I’d left lying around. “It says here,” he was telling Doyle as I came through the door, “that the average woman – Oh! Please, allow me…” He leapt to his feet, coming over to take the tray from me and putting it down on the coffee table between us. Perching on the edge of the sofa, he rubbed his hands and beamed.

“Ah,” he said, sniffing appreciatively at the steam rising from the tea, “ambrosia. Thanks, love.”

I took the biggest of the three mugs for myself and settled back in my own chair, waving a hand at the tray.

“There. They’ve both got milk. You’ll have to help yourselves if you want sugar.”

Bodie leaned forward and pulled the tray towards him. He was reaching for a teaspoon when Doyle said, “That’s all right, thanks. Neither of us takes sugar.”

The spoon went back on the tray with a crisp click and Bodie passed a mug across to Doyle with a speaking look. Doyle thanked him sweetly and Bodie settled back on the sofa with a sigh, staring morosely down into his tea.

“So?” I said. “I’ve let you in, you’ve got your tea. Now it’s your turn. Whatever it is you want to say, say it.”

“All right.” Doyle swallowed a mouthful of tea, balanced his cup carefully on the arm of the sofa and leaned forward, eyes holding mine. “We’re worried about Linda.”

“Oh are you?” For a moment, I wanted to laugh – he said it so earnestly: as if he was serious, as if Linda really mattered to him – then the old bitterness took over.

“That’s rich coming from you, I must say. You haven’t set eyes on Linda since she was ten years old. You haven’t come near us since you walked out of our lives with Jack seventeen years ago. What’s Linda to you?”

“Ah.” I’ll swear Doyle actually winced, and he and Bodie exchanged a look. “We were afraid of that. She hasn’t spoken to you, then?”

There was an queasy churning starting up in my guts. I wished all over again that I’d been quicker slamming that door.

“Spoken to me about what?”

Bodie and Doyle looked at each other again, some kind of message passing between them. In the end Doyle sighed and turned back to me.

“We had hoped… This would really be better coming from Linda herself, but… Okay, up until a couple of weeks ago, what you say was quite true. Frankly, no, we never expected to see any of you again. I was pleased to help Jack out all those years ago – we may have been on different sides of the law but, believe it or not, I had a lot of respect for the way he felt about you and the kids. But once it was all over, well, that was the end of it for us. Linda was just a nice kid in a bad situation. But recently she’s come to mean a lot more to us than that. We’ve been seeing a great deal of her over the last three weeks – getting to know her pretty well, in fact.”

I couldn’t see where this was going, I only knew it was making me very uncomfortable. And when I’m uncomfortable I get angry.

“I don’t understand. Have you been… keeping her under surveillance or something? What on earth for? If you’ve been watching her you must know you’re wasting your time. She’s a police officer now, for heaven’s sake; she’s one of you.”

Doyle opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t let him. “Jack said you were different,” I told him, “but I always knew better. You’re like all the rest when it comes down to it, aren’t you? You look at who she is and where she came from and you can’t believe that she could be any better the rest of us. But you’re wrong. My Linda’s straighter than straight. Do you seriously think she’d risk throwing seven years’ hard graft down the drain for some stupid scam?” An even nastier thought occurred to me. “You haven’t spoken to her boss, have you? That bastard’s had it in for Linda from the word go. If I find you’ve been making trouble – ”

At a glance from Doyle, Bodie took over.

“Please, Mrs Stone, calm down. We told you before that Linda’s not in any trouble. As it happens, we did speak to her boss – who has some very peculiar notions about your daughter, by the way – just to put him straight on one or two things. But I can assure you Linda won’t be getting any more trouble from him.”

“Oh no? After your lot have been snooping around, asking questions? If that’s your idea of being helpful, you’ve got a funny way of going about it. The grief he’s given Linda all these years and you really imagine a few words from you are going to change the way he thinks?”

Doyle again: “Chrissie, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. _He_ doesn’t matter. He won’t be giving Linda any more trouble, because he has no authority over her any more.”

“Really? And why’s that?”

Bodie got in first on that one. “Linda’s left the police force, Mrs Stone. We don’t think she’ll be going back.”

And he sat back with a satisfied smile on his face like a magician who’s just pulled a particularly fat and lively rabbit out of his hat.

“So let me get this straight,” I said slowly. “You’re telling me that you two went and had a little chat with Linda’s boss and now she’s left her job?”

They both nodded, and Bodie added, “Not exactly cause and effect, but that’s about the size of it, yes.”

So Linda had left the police. All right, that wasn’t quite the bombshell it might have been. There’d been a couple of times recently when I’d thought perhaps she was starting to think seriously about moving on. Phone calls when she let slip a little more than she probably meant to, visits home when I had a feeling there was something she wasn’t quite ready to tell me. No-one could say she hadn’t tried, and if she’d finally come to the point where she didn’t have the heart to fight any more then I for one wasn’t going to think any the worse of her. It had always been only a matter of time before she realised what I’d known from the beginning: that try as she might, not even her very best would ever be good enough for those small-minded bigots she worked with. But just to up sticks and leave without a word? That didn’t sound like my Linda at all.

“But if she’s not with the police any more, then what…?”

Doyle took another sip of tea and looked at me measuringly over the rim of his cup. “We’ve asked Linda to come and work for us.”

“For you…?” For one ridiculous moment my head was full of crazy visions of Linda charring for them or playing the perfect secretary. But even those seemed less outlandish than the alternative. I didn’t want to say it. Didn’t even want to think it, but what else could they be getting at?

“You mean…CI5.” I looked from one serious face to the other, reading my answer there, but still hoping desperately to be contradicted. “Don’t you?”

Doyle nodded, still watching me with those odd, cool eyes; assessing my reaction.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “My Linda working for CI5?”

Bodie was the one to say it out loud: putting the final nail in the coffin; making it real. “Yes, that’s right.”

I could feel myself shaking. “No. No, that’s nonsense. She’d never –”

Doyle said gently, “It’s true, Chrissie. Or at least, we hope it will be. She’s only in selection training now of course, but she’s doing well and we’ve every reason to believe she’ll make it onto the Squad.”

I wanted to protest, force them to tell me it wasn’t true, but I couldn’t seem to find any words.

“I know this must come as a bit of a shock to you.” Doyle’s voice came to me from a long way away.

“A bit of a shock.” I had to laugh. “Yes, you could say that.” Funny. My own voice sounded distant to me as well.

“Bodie!” Doyle’s voice again, fainter still, but urgent.

“Careful, love.” Bodie materialised by my side. “Here, let me take that.” And he was easing my cup out of my hand, dabbing with a hanky at the hot tea I’d slopped all over my lap.

I took deep breaths and snatched the hanky from him. “It’s all right, I can manage, thank you.”

My hand kept scrubbing away at my damp skirt while I tried to come to terms with what they’d told me. They weren’t lying to me, even I could see that. But still it couldn’t be true. Not CI5. It didn’t make any sense. She _wouldn’t_ , not my Linda. Didn’t she know what it would do to us? To me. These were the people who’d taken her father away. How could she?

But then, a nagging little voice in the back of my mind reminded me, weren’t they also the people who’d saved us?

Their Liz Spalding had risked her own life down there in the dark, drawing Pat’s fire to keep us safe. Linda had never forgotten that. She’d had a crush on Liz almost the size of Nick’s, I let myself remember now. But where Nick had sworn he was going to marry Liz when he grew up, Linda had wanted to _be_ her.

But that was all it was. Just a silly childhood crush. She’d grown out of all that long ago. Hadn’t she?

“Liz Spalding,” I said. “The one who stayed with us when we had the trouble with Pat. What happened to her?”

Bodie blinked but took the sudden change of tack in his stride. “Ah yes, the lovely Liz. Linda was asking about her as well.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That Liz, Liz Sullivan, as she is now, is settled in the States these days, and doing very well for herself. Security consultant to the stars. Frightfully glamorous.”

Good. I was pleased to hear that. I’d always thought young Liz deserved better than the life she was leading with CI5. In fact I’d wondered what on earth had got into a nice girl like her to make her choose that kind of life in the first place.

Bodie interrupted my thoughts, reaching over the table to relieve me of his sodden handkerchief. He offered me back my mug, and I took it from him and clutched it in both hands, grateful for its warmth.

“How?” I said. “How did Linda end up coming to CI5?”

Doyle put down his cup. “It doesn’t work like that. You don’t come to CI5; we come to you. Nobody applies to join; you have to be chosen.”

“And,” Bodie said, “We only choose the best.”

“Linda?” Despite myself I couldn’t deny a flicker of maternal pride. My Linda was one of the best.

“Very much so.”

“But why her? How did you know where to find her? You can’t have been waiting all this time?”

“No,” Bodie laughed, “I’m afraid it was nothing as neat as that. In fact we had no idea who Linda was until we ran some initial background checks and took a look at her file. It was pure coincidence that we happened to run into her again when we did.”

“At her station?”

Bodie smiled broadly. “In church.”

“Church? But Linda’s not – ”

He shook his head. “She was on duty at a political wedding where we happened to be guests. Linda showed considerable courage and initiative in dealing with a potentially difficult situation. We were impressed. Her superiors in the police were…” His mouth quirked, “less impressed.”

“You see,” he leaned forward, hands open on his knees, radiating persuasive charm, “the qualities we look for in CI5 aren’t always the ones they value most in the regular force. Our job,” he nodded towards Doyle, “Ray’s and mine is to look out for people who show signs of possessing those qualities. And if, after we’ve spoken to them, we still think they’ve got what it takes and they’re interested enough to give it a try, then we ask them along for selection.”

“And Linda was interested?”

Bodie and Doyle exchanged an amused glance. “Eventually,” Bodie said, “yes. I think she found our approach a little… unorthodox.”

Doyle grinned. “She thought you were trying to chat her up, you mean.”

Bodie looked down his nose at him. “I was merely being my usual charming self.”

“But he’s – ”

“Old enough to be her father?” Doyle finished for me, with a teasing glance at his friend. “You know, I suspect that was Linda’s reaction too.”

Bodie put a hand to his heart. “I was crushed.”

“Did she know who you were?”

“In church?” Bodie asked, all business again. “No, I don’t think so – any more than we recognised her. It’s been a few years after all, and we were all of us spruced up in our Sunday best for the wedding. But she did accept my card.”

“W. Bodie.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow and I explained. “The name on your card. That must be why she was asking. She rang me, you see. Asked if I remembered a man called W. Bodie, but she wouldn’t tell me why she wanted to know. It must have been that night.”

“I expect so. I asked her to ring me – wasn’t sure she would, frankly, but she did the next morning, and we met up with her later that day. For breakfast, actually, great little place over in Peckham. They’ve got this Greek chap behind the counter does magic with a rasher of bacon and a couple of slices of Mother’s Pride.” He kissed his fingers, miming gastronomic ecstasy, and answered Doyle’s pained grimace with an unchastened grin.

So, she’d gone to meet with the pair of them knowing who they were. She’d broken bread with them. I couldn’t blame her for being curious, I suppose. After all, she’d never felt about them the way I did. “They were only doing their jobs, mum,” she was always telling me.

“So you offered her a job over breakfast and she said yes, just like that?”

“Not just like that, no. She wasn’t overly impressed with our sales pitch at first; needed some persuading. But after we’d had a bit of a chat, she agreed to give it a go, yes.”

“And you say she’s doing well?”

“Very well.” Doyle took up the reins while Bodie reached for his neglected cup of tea. “And she’s enjoying herself. She’s in her element with us, Mrs Stone.”

“Her element?” Did he have any idea what he was saying? “I’ve seen CI5 in action, remember? You and your fast cars and your guns. You’re nothing but a lot of glorified thugs.”

“That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it? We may use the same tools sometimes, but our job is to keep the peace.”

“At the end of a gun barrel?”

“When necessary, yes.” He looked at me, eyes challenging. “You weren’t so bothered about us carrying guns when Liz used hers to keep you safe from Pat Weaver, were you?”

But that was different. This was my Linda we were talking about; my little girl.

“So you’ll teach Linda to use a gun, will you? Teach her to kill?”

“Teach her to stay alive. To keep other people alive. You don’t know what it’s like out there, Chrissie.” He raked a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture, and I could sense the urge to be up and pacing if his leg hadn’t held him back. “CI5 and other organisations like ours exist so you don’t have to know. But the people we come up against sometimes – terrorists, fanatics, the kind of criminal who’d make your dad’s organisation look like a Sunday school picnic – you think they hesitate to kill if it serves their ends?”

He pulled out his ID wallet, flipped it open and stabbed a finger at the small print I’d skimmed over earlier. “You see this? ‘ _Whatever means necessary_ ’. That’s what’s written in our brief, and that’s how we’re forced to operate. We do everything in our power to avoid it, but sometimes we have no choice but to fight fire with fire.”

He was passionate enough about what he was saying. I didn’t doubt he believed every word. But didn’t he understand that he was just confirming what I was afraid of? It was bad enough that I already had a son who looked set to follow his dad to gaol or worse. I didn’t want my Linda taking those kinds of risks, learning to believe that the ends always justify the means, coming to share CI5’s grim view of the world. I worried enough about her as it was, when most of her police work meant dealing with nothing more dangerous than teenage shoplifters and Saturday night drunks.

“What Doyle says is all true, Chrissie,” Bodie put in, laying a restraining hand on Doyle’s arm, when he opened his mouth to say more, “but you have to remember that the high risk operations he’s talking about are only a part of what we do. Believe it or not, a small part. And one that our people are very well trained to handle.”

“Don’t give me that. You heard him. And you keep forgetting, I’ve seen what you do. It’s dangerous.”

“It can be dangerous, yes,” Doyle admitted. “Of course there are risks. We’d be stupid to try to deny that. But if I made it sound like that’s all there is to the job, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. All I was trying to do was make you see what we’re up against. To see how important our work is, how vital it is that there are people prepared to take it on, risks and all. But Bodie’s right. We have an excellent training programme in place designed specifically to minimise those risks. And a lot of the time – _most_ of the time – CI5’s like any other job: the biggest risk is dying of boredom. In a lot of ways we’re really not that different from the police. A large part of what we do is simply about gathering information and trying to make sense of it once we’ve got it. There are reports to write and files to plough through and hours of surveillance and routine, plodding legwork. Just like in the police. What sets us apart is that we have that bit more leeway when we do have to act.”

“Reports and files. Right. And I suppose now you’re going to tell me that’s how you did in that leg of yours. Banged it on the edge of a desk, did you? Tripped over a stack of paperwork?”

Opposite me, Bodie stiffened, but Doyle waved him down. He smiled. “No. I’m not going to tell you that. And the answer to what you’re really asking is yes, we’ve both taken our share of knocks on the job, but doesn’t it tell you something that the two of us have been in the Squad for over twenty years now – in the thick of things right from day one – and yet we’re both still here and in one piece.”

“One piece?”

“All right,” he acknowledged with a grin, “perhaps a little frayed around the edges. But this,” he tapped his stiff leg, “has nothing to do with the job. I wasn’t even on duty when it happened. I got careless, that’s all. Dark night, rain pissing down, unfamiliar road. I took a bend too fast, went into a skid and had the bike over. My fault. Not the job’s.” He hesitated, looking down at the tea cup in his lap and then glancing over at Bodie who was sitting poker-faced staring down at his own clasped hands. “But, in a way,” he said sounding almost reluctant to make the connection, “it does have something to do with why we’re here.”

“Oh yes, and how’s that?”

“Distraction,” Bodie announced in clipped tones, and raised his eyes to mine. I was startled by the bleakness in them.

“Distraction.”

“Yes. You see what Ray forgot to mention – ”

“Bodie…”

Bodie held up a hand and Doyle subsided, muttering something under his breath that sounded decidedly uncomplimentary.

“What Ray didn’t mention,” Bodie went on, acknowledging Doyle’s reaction with the barest flicker of a smile that was quickly extinguished, “Was why he wasn’t paying attention that night. That’s the real connection. You don’t need details, but….” He sighed, and I could see this really wasn’t easy for him. “It had been a pig of a year. For all of us. And, Ray… It hit him hard. Harder than it should have. He’d been… let down, you see. Badly. By someone he cared about, someone he should have been able to rely on. Final straw kind of thing, and he was – ” Bodie broke off as if suddenly remembering who he was talking to. His mouth quirked almost apologetically. “Well, you can imagine. A kick in the teeth like that, from someone you thought you could trust…” He, shrugged and plastered on a grin and an accent straight out of Brookside. “Plays havoc with the old concentration.”

Doyle shook his head. “Prat.” But the smile he sent Bodie’s way was full of affection.

In other circumstances, it might have been touching: this big, tough man, still so obviously cut up about his best mate’s long-ago romantic misfortunes. But…

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Linda.”

Doyle turned back to me with the smile they’d shared still lingering in his eyes and, as I do sometimes, for no reason at all, I found myself suddenly, horribly lonely for Jack. I pushed the ache away as I’ve learned to do over the years, and concentrated on what Doyle was telling me.

“Linda’s going to have to develop a lot of new skills if she gets through selection and decides to join us,” Doyle was saying. “Even though – no, _because_ – most of the job is routine, it’s vital that our people don’t let themselves grow careless. They have to be able to switch gear in a second; to focus one hundred percent on what they’re doing, no matter what that might be. A situation can turn faster than you can blink. Start getting complacent and…” His eyes flickered towards Bodie, who nodded sober encouragement. “The results can be disastrous. I was lucky. I got away lightly, but I’ve known others who weren’t so fortunate, and in some scenarios distractions can kill.”

“Yes, I get the message.” Although I wasn’t sure I’d agree with his assessment of his luck. “What I don’t understand is what any of this has to do with Linda. You told me a minute ago she was doing well. One of the best, you said. And now you’re telling me what? That she’s careless? That you don’t trust her ability to concentrate?”

“No. Not – ”

“Good. Because let me tell _you_ something, Mr Doyle. When you two took my Jack away, Linda was studying for her Eleven Plus. She took the exam three days after he was sent down, and passed with flying colours. Jack died in prison the month before Linda sat her O Levels. She got them all. Eight subjects, and not just passes, top grades in every one. Don’t tell me she doesn’t know how to concentrate.”

“We won’t.” They both seemed oddly pleased with my reaction.

“So what _are_ you telling me, then?”

“Well...” Doyle rubbed at the side of his nose, meeting my eyes with what looked very like embarrassment. “It’s a little tricky, but the point is, in an organisation like CI5, psychological fitness is as important as physical fitness. Potential recruits like Linda go through a whole battery of psychological tests and evaluations as part of the selection process and, if they’re successful, they’ll face them again at intervals all through their career. Those test results play a big part in deciding who we accept onto the Squad – well, you can see how dangerous it would be to give our kind of training to someone without the psychological stability to deal with it.”

“If you’re implying – ” I was all set to let rip, but Bodie was standing by to head off the explosion.

“Hang on!” he interrupted, hands raised to ward off my gathering indignation. “Before you bite Doyle’s head off, we should say that Linda’s come through all her tests with textbook scores. She’s proved herself every bit the well-balanced, level-headed young woman we spotted in action at the wedding. There’s only one real weakness in her profile, and I’m afraid,” he paused, eyes wrinkling in rueful amusement, “that’s you.”

“ _Me?_ ”

“What Bodie’s trying to say,” Doyle explained, breaking in with a glower at Bodie, “is that, because of your family’s previous history with CI5, Linda’s having some difficulty coming to a decision about her future. Our tame shrink, Dr Ross, calls it ‘a certain ambivalence in addressing the issue’.” He smiled at my expression. “We prefer to call it trouble making up her mind. But we’re all agreed on what’s behind it. To put it simply, Linda’s afraid of what it’ll do to you and to her relationship with you if she accepts a place with us.”

I’m ashamed to say my first reaction was relief. And hope that perhaps, then, it wasn’t too late after all and I might still be able to talk her out of this.

“She’s afraid I’ll…reject her?”

Doyle considered that. “I think that’s part of it, yes. But there’s also a strong element of concern for you. She knows how you feel about us, about what we do. She doesn’t want to hurt you.” He gave that time to sink in and added, “She loves you.”

That was a low blow even for him. _Whatever means necessary_ indeed.

But it rang true. Linda _would_ think like that. She has a protective streak a mile wide, does my Linda. Ever since her father went away, she’s acted like it was her sacred duty to look out for Nick and me in his place. I still remember the day Nick came home from his new school in tears because one of the older boys had stolen his lunch money. She didn’t say a word to me, but the next morning, Linda went in with him on the bus and that was the last we heard from Nick about bullying. And it wasn’t just her family she looked out for. If there was a classroom feud or a playground squabble you could guarantee Linda would be there in the front line, standing up for the underdog, taking on all comers. She was a fierce little thing but even then she always knew which side she was on.

She may only have been a little girl when it happened, but that business with Pat marked her. I think it made her realise that safety isn’t something you can take for granted. She’d been a victim and she didn’t like it. So she took a look around her and saw that she had a choice. She could stay a victim or she could take control, become one of the protectors. She’d made her choice before she was twelve years old.

Which was why, perhaps, I wasn’t quite so shocked as the rest of the family when she announced she wanted to be a copper. In fact if I forced myself to look at it from Linda’s point of view, I could almost see how this idea of joining CI5 might even start to make a twisted kind of sense.

“And you’re afraid that if you accept her into your…” What was it, they’d called it? “...your ‘Squad’, Linda will be so concerned about my reaction to her new job that she’ll let it distract her to the point of putting herself in danger?”

“It’s a risk,” Bodie said. “An unnecessary risk.”

“And that worries you so much, it’s brought you all the way out here to talk to me about it. Very noble of you, I must say. Now go on and tell me why you’re really here.”

“That is why we’re really here.”

Bodie’s frank and open expression was about as convincing as Nick’s, and I let him know it.

“All right,” he admitted, not at all put out, “you’ve got me, it’s not the only reason. Ray?”

“Linda’s safety is our most important consideration.” Doyle said, picking up on his cue. “That’s the absolute truth. But you’re right, we’re not being entirely unselfish. You see, Chrissie, we need people like Linda in CI5. It’s not easy finding recruits – particularly female recruits – of her calibre. There aren’t too many people who have the skills, the motivation and the commitment to make it in our line of work. We don’t want to lose Linda, but if she joins us she’ll be taking on a job that demands one hundred percent, whole-hearted commitment, and it may sound harsh, but we can’t accept anything less.”

“So if Linda’s fears about me are causing her to have mixed feelings about the job…”

“We can’t afford to accept her, no matter how high her scores in assessment,” Bodie agreed. “We can’t take the risk of Linda’s preoccupation with her personal life affecting her performance on the job and putting her own or another agent’s life in danger. And, to be brutally frank, we don’t have the resources to waste on someone who may decide halfway through training that this isn’t what she wants to do after all.”

“Don’t you dare suggest that! My Linda’s never given up on anything in her life.” I was furious. For them to sit there implying that Linda of all people would ever give less than her best to anything she believed in. “Linda, a quitter? You’ve seen her record and you can still say that? Good God, do you know what she went through to get into the police? Her granddad disowned her, her own brother treats her like a traitor. Even I gave her a hard time, god help me. But she knew what she wanted to do and she did it. And she’s never given up. Years of watching people younger than her, people with half her brains and dedication being promoted over her head and – ”

“Tell me about it,” Doyle interrupted in heartfelt tones. “Believe me, I don’t doubt Linda’s dedication for a minute. I’ve been there, and I’m the first to admire her for sticking it as long as she did. Different reasons, but after six years on the force I still joined CI5 as plain old DC Doyle. It was pure luck I happened to catch George Cowley’s eye.”

“At least you made it out of uniform.”

He grinned, “Yeah, there is that. But only because they couldn’t stand the sight of me around the station. They couldn’t sack me, but some good long stints undercover were the next best thing so they shunted me into the Drug Squad.”

“Supercop here managed to make himself very unpopular with the powers that be,” Bodie explained. “Always has had a particular talent for endearing himself to authority.”

Doyle snorted. “Watch it, or I’ll tell her about that letter of ‘recommendation’ your Major Nairn wrote Cowley.”

“Sorry,” Doyle said, turning back to me as I bent to put my empty cup down on the coffee table. “We don’t mean to sound as if we’re taking this lightly. We’re not. And I don’t for a moment believe that Linda would turn her back casually on anything she’d undertaken. She’s a very determined, very conscientious young woman. But we’re all vulnerable somewhere, and with Linda it’s her family. You.”

“This time, yes. But what about the next time?”

“The next time?” Bodie asked.

“Yes. When – oh, I don’t know – when her gran gets sick or… or her brother gets himself collared again? You can’t be daft enough to expect me to believe that once she sorts this out her life’s going to be plain sailing all the way and never another care in the world. This isn’t a one-off situation.”

“Of course not,” Bodie agreed, “We’re none of us superhuman.” He flicked a glance at Doyle, who acknowledged it with a rueful smile. “I have cause to know that better than most. We all have personal concerns that can carry over into our working life. But that’s what the assessment system’s there for. To spot potential problems – however minor or even silly they may appear – before they become serious. If we can identify them, we can deal with them. The danger lies in failing to recognise them. That’s something that applies to all our agents, not just the new recruits.”

“And do all your agents get this kind of personal treatment?”

“Yes,” said Doyle simply, “if we think it’s going to make a difference.”

“But why?”

Bodie leaned forward, putting his empty tea cup down beside mine on the table and holding out a hand for Doyle’s. He shrugged. “The short answer? It’s our job, it’s what we’re paid for these days.” He reached into his jacket, slipped a card out of an inside pocket and handed it across to me. “Here. This is the card I gave Linda.”

 _W. Bodie_ , it said, _Assessment_. And then a central London phone number.

I looked at it and back at him.

Bodie smiled. “Covers a multitude of sins, doesn’t it? It’s meant to. Doyle and me, we have a very wide brief. We’re not just talent scouts – although that’s part of what we do; looking out for people like your Linda who’ve got what it takes – the rest of the time we’re involved in training and assessing the active agents. Whenever one of our people comes up for re-assessment, we’re the ones who make the final decision to pass them fit for continued active duty or hold them back for further training or reassignment. As you can imagine, that’s a responsibility we take very seriously.”

“And that includes digging around in their personal lives and stirring up their families, does it?”

“It includes anything and everything that’s going to affect their performance on the job,” said Doyle fiercely. “Anything and everything that’s going to keep them alive and in one piece and give them an edge over the opposition.”

“We can’t afford to ignore any aspect of their lives that’s going to impinge on their work,” Bodie agreed. He nodded at Doyle. “Him and me, we’ve been with the Squad almost from the beginning. We probably know more about what does and doesn’t work than anyone else still serving in CI5. We’ve learned a lot of valuable lessons in our time,” his eyes slid briefly to Doyle’s, “learned them the hard way. Our job is to pass on what we’ve learned to the young ones coming through now, so that they don’t have to make the mistakes we made.”

“And you’re good at that, are you?”

“We like to think so, yes. Injury and mortality rates are lower now than they’ve ever been. We can’t make this job completely safe. No-one can do that, but we can, and we like to think we do, give our people the best possible chance.”

He slipped the cosy off the pot and held the strainer poised over my cup. “More tea?”

Mortality rates. My Linda was seriously considering a job which prided itself on ‘low’ mortality rates. And the man responsible was sitting on my sofa smilingly offering me a cup of my own tea.

“No. Thank you.”

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Help yourself.”

He poured for himself and Doyle and I used the time to think, waiting until he’d finished fussing with milk and teaspoons and passing of mugs.

I was still a long way from reconciled to all of this. I hated the idea of my daughter risking her life with these people, hardening herself until she started to think like them. But…

“You say Linda’s happy? That she’s enjoying this… ‘selection training’ of yours?”

“Seems to be, yes.” Bodie said, “And she’s good at it. Very good.”

Of course she was good. But she was a good copper as well, and look where that got her.

“What about her background?”

“Ah, you’re expecting us to think like that short-sighted Superintendent, is that it?” Bodie challenged. “Anyone with Linda’s background has to be a traitor or a plant?”

“Well, isn’t that how you think? Don’t tell me it never crossed your minds how useful someone with Linda’s knowledge and connections could be to you.”

Doyle smiled wryly. “It crossed our minds. And if the circumstances called for it we wouldn’t hesitate to ask for Linda’s co-operation. But there’ll be no coercion. It may surprise you, but Linda’s loyalty to her family is a strong point in her favour. We’re not in the business of hiring traitors.”

“And as for thinking she’s a plant...” Bodie shrugged. “We’ve seen Linda’s police record, we’ve talked to her and we’ve watched her in training. That’s good enough for us. We make our own judgements, Mrs Stone. We don’t give a damn what Linda’s father or grandfather did. All we’re interested in is who she is now and how well she does her job. In that way we’re a very different organisation from the police.”

“That’s not the difference that bothers me.”

“No. We understand that.”

I must have looked sceptical.

“We do understand, Chrissie,” Doyle said. “After what happened to Jack, I know how you must feel about – ”

That really made me mad. Why do people always say that? I remember in the weeks after Jack’s funeral all those well-meaning people with their useless advice, every one of them telling me they knew how I must feel.

“Oh do you? I very much doubt it. Do you have children, Mr Doyle? Mr Bodie?”

They exchanged a quick glance.

“No,” Doyle said cautiously. “But – ”

“Well then, how can you possibly know how I feel? Linda’s my _daughter_ , Doyle. My own flesh and blood. You’ve already taken my husband, and now you want to take her. You’re offering her a job where you’ve said yourself she might well have to kill – maybe even die, and you want me to give her my blessing.” It was so ludicrous it was almost laughable. “Linda’s my child, do you understand that? She and Nick are all I have left. They mean everything to me. Everything. If I lost her I’d…” I put my hand to my mouth, cutting myself off before I made a spectacle of myself. There was no point, I knew they couldn’t understand. “Trust me,” I told them, “until there’s somebody in your life who means as much to you as my kids mean to me, someone you couldn’t bear to lose, someone who’s so much a part of you that you feel their pain as if it’s your own, you couldn’t possibly know how I feel.”

Doyle looked as if he wanted to argue, but Bodie caught his eye and shook his head, and Doyle turned back to me with a sigh.

“I think you’re making some big assumptions, but... All right, we’re not parents, so maybe we don’t know exactly how you feel. But can you give us the benefit of the doubt when we tell you our concern for Linda, for every one of our agents, is absolutely genuine? We’ve both lost people who matter to us, Chrissie. We’ve suffered with people we care for. We know how hard this is for you. But we know how hard it is for Linda as well. She really wants this. And we want her. We don’t approach many people, Mrs Stone. You should be proud of her.”

And that was almost the worst part; despite everything, of course I was. How could I help but admire her for growing into the kind of person who’d attract the attention of an outfit that took only the best, the kind of person who’d risk her life to help others? But none of that was enough to outweigh my fear for her. Not just because of the danger. They were right, there’s an element of that in all police work. I did my best not to think too hard about it, but I knew it was there, and I worried every time there was talk of rioting on the news or when I pictured Linda – black belt or no black belt – up against some drunken lout at chucking out time. But it was more than that. It was the life itself.

“All right. Put the danger aside for a moment. What about the secrecy?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re not in the phone book, are you?” I held up the card Bodie had given me. “Look at this. It doesn’t even say who you work for. And I know what a hard time Jack had when he was trying to get a message through to you. What you do, it’s all hush-hush, top secret stuff, isn’t it?”

That seemed to amuse them both. “We’re not exactly James Bond,” Doyle said, “even if some of us,” he patted Bodie’s arm, “might like to think we are. But you could put it like that, I suppose, yes. We don’t advertise.”

“So you’ll be asking Linda to live a lie? What’s she meant to tell everyone when they ask what she’s up to now she’s left the police? Because they’re going to ask, it’s only natural. And then there’s the hours. From what that Liz told me, you’re on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. How is Linda meant to live like that?”

“You’re right, we do encourage our people to be discreet about what they do – but that’s no different from any of the intelligence agencies or special services. When anyone asks… Well, in the official paper work, we’re down as civil servants and that’s usually what we answer. It’s safer that way and on the whole it makes life a lot easier. And yes, the hours can be lousy, but life goes on.”

“It’s hardly a normal life, though, is it?”

“What’s normal?” Doyle asked. “It’s the life we’ve all chosen.”

“That’s all very well, but…”

How could I make them see? All her life, Linda’s lived surrounded by secrets and lies. That’s an occupational hazard in families like ours, I know, but Linda’s not like the rest of us. She doesn’t accept the status quo; she genuinely believes that she can do something to make the world a better, safer place. She’s never been what you might call a light-hearted girl. Not surprising, when you think she’s not even thirty, and she’s already had to cope with more betrayal and danger and loneliness than anyone her age should have to deal with. But I wanted so badly for her to have a chance at the kind of carefree, ordinary life most girls her age take for granted. To have a taste of what Jack and I had before it all went wrong – love and laughter and sharing with someone she cares for.

I looked at Bodie and Doyle sitting there sipping their tea and waiting for my next question. The pair of them so focused on their job that, on a Friday evening when most men would be at home in front of the telly with the wife and kids, here they were, in a stranger’s living room worrying about a new recruit.

“Are you two married?” I asked them.

It seemed a simple enough question, but I must have hit a nerve. Bodie jumped and they exchanged a look that was almost comical before Bodie was overtaken by a fit of coughing and had to turn away.

“Sorry,” he spluttered, “tea went down the wrong way.”

Doyle frowned and thumped him on the back with more vigour than seemed strictly necessary. “No,” Doyle answered for both of them. “Not married. I came close once but…” He shrugged. “It didn’t work out.”

I flashed back to Doyle’s ID photograph – ¬¬the portrait of a man who’d lost something precious and irreplaceable ¬– and to Bodie’s cryptic statement about a betrayal in Doyle’s past. Jilted at the altar, I wondered meanly, or had she dumped him before it ever got that far? Curious, I probed a little more.

“Girlfriends?”

Bodie, who seemed to have got himself back together under the force of Doyle’s stare, said dryly, “We’ve had our fair share.”

I didn’t doubt it. Doyle’s disability aside, they’d neither of them aged badly. Bodie in particular acted like a man who still took his own irresistibility blithely for granted. No, I could believe that neither of them would have any difficulty picking up a woman when he wanted some company for a night or two. But that wasn’t what I’d had in mind.

“One night stands? Casual flings? That’s not what I want for my Linda. She deserves a chance at a real life, something permanent: a husband, children, someone to grow old with.”

“And I can see why you’d want all of that for her,” Doyle said gently, “But – forgive me – have you asked yourself if that’s what Linda wants?”

“That’s none of your – ” I started, but then I stopped as I realised he was right. I never had asked, I’d just taken it for granted. After all, wasn’t it what any woman wanted?

But when I thought about it I realised Linda never had talked about marriage or babies or settling down. Nick was the one with the steady girlfriend and the wedding plans. All Linda’s ambitions had always centred around her work. First at school and then as a copper.

I knew she’d been out with a couple of young men since she’d joined the Met but she’d laughed when I suggested she bring them home to meet me. “So you can ask them if their intentions are honourable? No thanks. They’re just friends, Mum. We’re having a good time, that’s all.”

No, what Linda wanted had always been a bit of a mystery to me.

But that didn’t alter the fact, “She’s been alone for so long...”

Doyle seized on that straight away. “She won’t be alone with us. We’ll give her a partner. Someone she won’t have to pretend to, someone who’ll understand all about the difficulties of the job because he’ll be facing them side by side with her. We’ve got our eyes on someone now – he’s a nice chap, a good man, and they already work well together. They’ll make a fine team, Chrissie. CI5 looks after its own, trust me. She won’t be alone.”

“And as for love and marriage and children,” Bodie added, “we’re not denying her any of that. Yes, our work can make relationships difficult. We’ve all had to make some sacrifices there, but we wouldn’t be in this job if we didn’t believe it’s worth it. It’s a balancing act, but it’s not an impossible one.”

“No, and we’re not demanding a lifetime’s commitment,” Doyle said. “Linda isn’t being asked to sign over her soul, just to agree to a three-year initial contract. After that, she can choose to sign on for another term or leave. She’s not closing any doors by joining us.”

“Yes, but you still don’t get it, do you? Once she starts working for you…”

How could I explain? How a job like that was bound to change her. Bodie talked about balancing relationships as if he knew what that meant, but here they both were, pushing fifty and still single, still alone. They had their precious job but what did they have waiting for them when it was over? How could I make them understand how frightened I was of seeing Linda ending up like them with nothing in her life but the job. Of watching it stealing her life away piece by piece until she didn’t even notice the loss any more and thought that what she had was all there was. It was all too easy to see her in their shoes in twenty years’ time, losing herself in her work, persuading herself that her loneliness didn’t matter because she was doing a job that outweighed mere personal considerations. I couldn’t bear to see all the love and loyalty I knew she had to give wasted on strangers.

“She’s had so little love in her life. She’s lost or been let down by so many people close to her.”

Doyle nodded. “Her father, her brother, her grandparents. Oh yes,” he said when I looked at him, surprised, “I told you we’ve got to know her pretty well. But she still has you, Chrissie. Doesn’t she?”

“Of course she still has me. She’ll always have me. I’m her mother.”

And I realised the trap I’d fallen into, when he said completely without triumph, but with the knowledge of victory clear in his eyes, “Then tell her that. Please. Tell her you’ll support her in this. That she can make her decision without being afraid of losing you too.”

“If she doesn’t know that by now…”

“But a little reminder couldn’t hurt, eh? She’s been dreading talking to you. She believes you’ll see this as the ultimate betrayal.”

“Are you surprised?” I hurled at him in a last ditch protest, knowing how pointless it was now. “You took my husband!”

“Yeah,” Bodie snapped back at me. “And he put his job on the line to save your lives. _Jack_ called _Doyle_ , remember. What was he supposed to do?”

I didn’t have an answer, and he didn’t wait for one. “Chrissie,” he said, voice gentling, “it wasn’t Ray’s fault Jack got ill. It’s not our fault he’s not back with you now. Don’t punish Linda for something none of us could help.”

“All right.” I didn’t want to hear any more. “Just…be quiet for a minute, will you. Let me think.”

But there was really very little thinking left to do. My feelings were still in as much of a muddle as ever, but my choice had become very clear: no choice at all.

I knew Linda was sincere about not wanting to hurt me. I might even succeed in blackmailing her into giving up CI5 to spare me pain. But what kind of a relationship would I have with her after that? How could she fail to resent me for what I’d done? She might be safe but she’d still be lost to me.

And what if I tried and failed? What if she went ahead without my blessing, was able to convince her instructors that she was ready to give them the wholehearted commitment they asked for and then something happened to her because we’d had a row on the phone before some crucial operation or I hadn’t been there to talk to when she needed someone? I couldn’t live with myself if she was hurt because I let her down like the rest of them.

So, like I say, no choice at all. If I wanted to keep my daughter, my only option was to learn to live with my fear and smother my resentment, to let go of my dreams for her and accept the life she’d chosen for herself.

I was never going to be happy about it. I’d use every argument I could come up with to try to change her mind. I’d do my very best to make her see that there were alternatives. Try to make her think about what she might have to face and what she might have to give up. But I’d make it clear that the final decision was hers and that whatever she decided, I was going to stand by her. When it came down to it, she was my daughter and that said it all.

“All right,” I said. “You’ve said your piece. Let me think about it. You’ll have to be going now, Nick’ll be back any minute and I don’t want him finding you here when he gets home.”

“No,” Bodie agreed, “we wouldn’t want that. In fact, it’s probably best if you don’t tell anyone we’ve been here.” He stood up. “We’ll be on our way, but please, do think about what we’ve said. And… talk to her?”

They didn’t have the first idea what it means to be a mother.

“You weren’t close to your parents were you?”

He looked puzzled.

“No, I thought not. Go on, I’ve got a meal to cook. We won’t speak again.”

Bodie glanced across at Doyle who had picked up his stick and was bracing himself with one hand on the arm of the setee. Bodie's move in his direction, was arrested by a sharp look from Doyle, and Bodie’s arm fell back to his side.

“Here,” he said instead, stepping between me and Doyle and bending to pick up the tea tray, “let me take this through for you.”

I knew what he was doing, but I wasn’t having him poking around in my kitchen. “No, there’s no need,” I said. “I’ll do it myself, thank you.” I took it from him, and dumped the lot on the draining board to wash up later. Then I changed my mind and took a few extra moments to stick what was left of the milk back in the fridge and rinse the teapot through before it stained. Coming back out, I found them in the hall with the front door already open.

 

“Goodbye, Chrissie,” Doyle said. “Thank you. And don’t worry, we’ll take care of Linda for you.”

“You’d better.” I made sure they both realised I was serious. “I mean that.”

Doyle nodded soberly, accepting the charge. “We will.” And he turned to make his cautious way down the step.

“Goodbye, Mr Bodie,” I said as he made to follow. “And tell the silly girl to ring me.”

Bodie turned back to me and grinned. And then he took me completely by surprise, ducking his head as he passed and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “Linda’s a lucky girl; make sure she knows that. Goodbye, Chrissie.”

Slightly stunned, I closed the front door behind them and took a deep, steadying breath. But then some impulse made me turn back, to hitch up the corner of the nets on the side window and watch – the way I hadn’t been able to bear to watch when they’d taken Jack – as they made off down the path, heads together in conversation, Bodie slowing his pace to Doyle’s.

Outside the gate they stopped and Doyle perched himself on the front wall, one hand shielding his eyes against the setting sun to look up at Bodie who was gesturing away down the street. Doyle waved a hand in dismissal, raised his face to the sun and leaned back propped on his outstretched arms as Bodie made some laughing comment and strode away.

I thought about their promise to give Linda a partner. They’d obviously meant to reassure me, but did they really expect me to believe that a working partner could fill the gap meant for marriage and family? Now, watching them together, I realised that perhaps they honestly did. Anyone could see how close they were, with a friendship built on years of shared goals and shared experience. I wouldn’t belittle that; I know how rare and valuable a firm, fond friendship is. But I also know how easily even the strongest friendship can fade when you take away the common interests that forged it.

So, had they thought beyond the next few years, I wondered, or questioned what was going to become of them when eventually they had to retire and go their separate ways? They might be quite content for now, playing at Butch and Sundance, living each day as it came and taking their pleasures as they found them. They’d probably convinced themselves long ago that they didn’t need anything as boring and ordinary as wives and families. But what were they going to do when the game ended and they found themselves old and empty and alone?

To my amazement, I found myself actually feeling sorry for them, seeing them all of a sudden not as the ogres who’d haunted my nightmares for so long but as just a couple of lonely middle-aged men who’d weathered their own share of pain and unhappiness and come through with even less to show for it than I had. At least I had my memories, but what had they got? A solid working partnership, yes. But love? One failed affair and a collection of one-night stands – that wasn’t much to keep them warm in their old age.

They’d spoken to me so passionately about Linda and what she needed from me, and yet what could either of them really know about family? About belonging? About love?

I vowed then and there that Linda would never come to that. Whatever her new job demanded of her, I wouldn’t allow her to forget that there were other things in life, other things that mattered and people who cared. I’d never let her forget that she had a place where she would always be loved. Where she’d always belong.

I was still watching as a blue BMW drew up outside and Bodie leaned across to open the passenger door for Doyle to get in. I watched as they drove away and until the car was out of sight and then I went back into the kitchen to cook supper for my son and wait for a phone call from my daughter.

 _Don’t you worry, Linda love_ , I promised her as I sniffed my way through chopping the onions for the shepherd’s pie. _We’ll sort this out. Your mum’s not going to let you down, you’ll see. You’ll be all right_.


End file.
